Brian Eisley

@brianeisley.bsky.social

1061 Followers 129 Following

Abstract artist. Perennial student. Seeker of connections and hidden worlds. Forever anti-fascist. ✊ Sacramento, CA, USA

A bronze statue of the silver baron John William Mackay, standing in the quad in front of the School of Mines at the University of Nevada, Reno. He's holding ore in his right hand and leaning on a pickaxe.
A whiteboard sign for "Joe's Chicken Wings, Economy Cremation, Vacuum Repair, Open 24 Hours", with the line "Serving Arden Since 1907!" and a redacted 916 phone number.
A Captain And His Log
Two comic panels from Jhonen Vasquez. A guy looks down and screams, "OH, MY GOD!! SOMEBODY PUT SHIT IN MY PANTS!!!!!!" Then he runs to the restroom, trailing shit across the restaurant floor, as patrons look on in horror.
A pair of comic panels by Jhonen Vasquez. The first panel has a guy looking down and screaming "OH MY GOD!! SOMEBODY PUT SHIT IN MY PANTS!!!!!!" The second panel has him running toward a restroom, his feet trailing shit across the floor.
Excerpt from William Shakespeare's Henry V, act 1, scene 2: KING HARRY What treasure, uncle? EXETER (opening the tun) Tennis balls, my liege. KING HARRY We are glad the Dauphin is so pleasant with us. His present and your pains we thank you for. When we have matched our rackets to these balls, We will in France, by God’s grace, play a set Shall strike his father’s crown into the hazard. Tell him he hath made a match with such a wrangler That all the courts of France will be disturbed With chases. And we understand him well,
A copy of Thomas Pynchon's novel Gravity's Rainbow.
Cover of Fatboy Slim's "Halfway Between the Gutter and the Stars".
A robot wolf with gray fur and glowing red eyes, snarling at the camera.
Doc Brown from Back to the Future, looking momentarily confused and then shaking it off.
Tweet from Owl! at the Library (@SketchesbyBoze): the older I get, the more I think the secret to love is just letting yourself be the world's biggest weirdo and finding someone who delights in and matches your weirdness
Me in a blue shirt holding a heart-shaped leaf.
BOXES He sees three boxes before him, left, right, and center. Each is a black cube, roughly the size of his head, a large blue disc on the side facing him. He knows, instinctively, what each box contains. He opens the box on the left. Inside it are all of his pasts. The happy child of his earliest memories. The shy, withdrawn schoolboy, terrified of bullies. The frustrated teen, wanting to rebel but never quite finding the courage. The college student, impoverished and malnourished but ecstatic about learning. The bachelor, finally in control of his life. The husband who finished grad school, and then slowly fell apart as he failed to find work. The divorced office worker, contenting himself with weekend bursts of creativity. Slowly, with not a little sadness, he closes the lid on his past, and moves to the box in the center. Here are all of his presents. The dutiful boyfriend, trying to be someone's everything. The artist, weaving color into landscapes that shimmer and sway. The writer, throwing words together and hoping they'll stick. The dreamer, searching out connections between disparate facts to illustrate his grand theories. Smiling, he closes the box of the present, and turns to the final box, the box with all of his futures. The celebrity, renowned and rewarded for his genius. The retiree, collecting books and cats, and gradually going mad. The expat, quietly making art in some inexpensive part of the world. The vagrant, sleeping rough while his mind fades. The monk, retreating for good to the silence of his thoughts. He sighs, nods, and closes the box of his possible futures. He steps back, contemplates all three for a moment, then turns and walks away from all of it. All that he was, all that he is, and all that he ever could be. Brian Eisley 4/24/2025
TIME Time is running out. There's a leak, a tiny crack in the vessel. There's a puddle on the table. The level is dropping in the container. The pool of time spreads slowly over the tabletop, drawing near to the edge. You grab a sponge to try to mop it up. But there's still more coming. As soon as you get the time under control in one place, it's started spreading again elsewhere. In desperation, you run and get a bigger container. The remaining time is heavy, but you manage to lift it up and pour it into the new vessel. A few last drops fall in, and the broken container is set aside. The leak is stopped. Now to clean up the time that’s spilled. Gradually you wipe up the puddle of time, squeezing the sponge out into the vessel. You try to recover every last drop. Finally, the job is done. You've saved as much time as you can. But now comes the hard part: figuring out what to do with it. Brian Eisley 4/23/2025
PLAYA It's quieter out here, near where the real desert begins. It's never truly quiet. Sound carries. There are always distant snippets of music to be heard, or shouts, or engines. But out here, on the perimeter, near the trash fence that forms a pentagon around the city, it's quieter, especially during the day when the distant roar of the city is more subdued. I step off my bike, laying it carefully on the ground, and start to walk. I hear little more than the wind and the mysterious hum of the desert. The dry mud below my feet is cracked into irregular tiles whose edges crunch beneath my boots. The thin plastic barrier rustles in the breeze as I approach. I step up, lace my fingers in the holes, and gaze out at the featureless desert as it rolls off to the horizon, the deepest and most profound emptiness I've ever seen. (continued)
DIG I swing the pickaxe. Sparks fly as the heavy steel point strikes the rock. I swing again. A spark. A few chips tumble to the floor. I look closely and spot a thin crack in the rock. Another swing. More chips fall from around the crack. The gouge deepens. A few more hits and I'm able to turn the tool around and place the wedge in the gap. I brace myself, take a breath, and pull with all my strength. The rock creaks, then a large wedge separates and begins to lean forward. I jump out of the way as the slab comes down. I look into the newly exposed surface. Amid the various shades of grey, a shimmer catches my eye. It's a word. Of course it's a word. It's what I'm working so hard to find. I carefully work it out of its stone bed and stow it in my bag. It's been a tough day today, but I've managed to find a decent selection in the mines. Now it's time to take them back home, and see if I can write a poem. Brian Eisley 4/19/2025
SUNFLOWER One day the boy walked around the side of the building and found a sunflower. It was growing out of a square patch of dirt, maybe eighteen inches on a side, just under the building wall, surrounded by concrete. The flower was at least three feet tall, almost as big as him. Its face was as big as his, too, its sunny yellow face surrounded by petals. He could not remember seeing anything so beautiful. He instantly loved it, and he wanted it to be healthy and happy. He didn't know much about flowers, but he knew you were supposed to water them. So he got an empty coffee can, took it to the outside faucet, filled it with water, carried it back to the sunflower, and poured out the water in the little patch of dirt. Then he carried the can back to the faucet, refilled it, brought it back to the sunflower, and poured it out again. At least four cans of water and when he was done the sunflower stood in the center of a brown puddle. He observed his work with satisfaction. Surely the flower would grow and thrive. He was happy at his good deed. The next day, the sunflower was lying flat on the concrete. His mother told him he'd given it too much. He thought about that for a long time. About how you could kill something so easily, with too much water, or maybe with too much love. Brian Eisley 4/17/2025
RECLUSE I see you in there, coming up to the door and snarling Go away! and then vanishing once again. I hear your footsteps as you pace the walls of your fortress checking for weaknesses. Sometimes, when I knock, you'll open the door a crack and let me see you just for a moment. And then you're back behind your walls. I leave gifts, offerings perhaps, things I know you'll like, small items carrying huge meanings. When I come back, sometimes they're still there. But usually they're gone. Whether you accept them, or throw them away, I don't know. I don't know why you isolate yourself. I wish you could let yourself out and enjoy everything that's out here. I hate that the world can't see how beautiful you are. But I still come in the hopes that maybe one day you'll allow me in even if just for tea. Brian Eisley 4/16/2025
DELPHI I stand before the opening. I light a torch and descend into the depths. It is cool and damp, and moisture clings to the spongy limestone of the walls. The path descends gradually. In the shifting flicker of light I start to see words on the walls. Soon I am reading memories, recalling forgotten momentss from past lives. Assembling a giant puzzle of Big Bird on the kitchen floor, an image taller than I was. Getting pushed off of the monkey bars and falling on my face. Reading Tolkien for the first time. Sitting in my room hearing my parents fight downstairs. I keep walking, down, down, and the fragments get longer, the images growing and connecting. Leaving home. Losing everything. College. Work. Relationships. The images come faster. Moving again. Starting to make art. Marriage. Divorce. Losing everything again. More work. More relationships. And always, always, the struggle to be myself instead of the unattainable ideal that I keep striving for that I keep punishing myself for not attaining. I keep going. At last, far, far down the hole, the path ends at a closed door. It is stone, it is thick, it is massive. And yet, when I test the door’s edge with my fingers, it gently shifts, so perfectly balanced, and allows me to tug it open. And yet, now, on the verge of learning the great secret buried deep in my soul, I hesitate. I consider. And at last I ask: Do I dare to know myself? Brian Eisley 4/14/2025
Nobody knows what’s happening anymore. Nothing makes sense, meaning nothing is conforming to anyone’s expectations or preconceptions. The lessons learned in youth no longer apply. Your previous experience is not a guide. Past performance does not predict future results. The old maps no longer describe the territory as it shifts under our feet. But has it not always been this way? Perhaps our mistake is in believing that nothing will change, and that the way things are is the way they will always be. Brian Eisley 4/14/2025
And now we approach the decision Whether to continue on the path Of greed and grasping Fear and fences And decrying empathy as a sin Or to recognize None of us can survive alone None of us is truly independent None of us is an island Even those who only take Must have somebody to take from The ancient lizard-brain cycle of dominance Must yield to the good will of others Who tolerate or indulge Those who think they don't need the rest of us And who may find at any time That tolerance has limits And indulgence can be withdrawn. Brian Eisley 4/11/2025
SPEAK NOW or forever hold the pieces of your dreams in your grieving hands Speak now while you still have energy to move your tongue Speak now and cast your visions upon the flowing water to be carried away to other minds and hearts Speak now and let your soul radiate out into the world Speak now! --- Brian Eisley 4/9/2025
LOOSE by Brian Eisley 4/7/25 One day when I was little I found a loose brick At the base of a column At our apartment building And I thought it was so cool My own little hiding place Where I could leave secret messages And whatever else I could think of Even though As a shy and introverted kid I had nobody to leave secret messages for.
LATE by Brian Eisley 4/6/25 I'm sorry I know I said I'd be here on time I know I promised I'd be here on time I know we had an agreement with all sorts of incentives and punishments that called for me to be here on time But you see I kept snoozing the alarm I had to stop for coffee There was a traffic jam Or maybe I was too comfortable in bed I had to sit and rest and enjoy my coffee For just a moment longer I had to stop and watch magpies I had to write something down A thought so seemingly profound That it needed to be preserved Or maybe Imposing a grid of hours and minutes Or straight lines and right angles On such a messy organic changeable thing As life Doesn't always work.
WEEDS by Brian Eisley 4/3/25 If a mind is like a garden Then there will be weeds Carpets of dandelions Beautiful thoughts Nobody else can understand So they're deemed out of place Or an occasional thistle Growing along the trail Reaching out to snag your pants Or the eternal festering of All the deeply rooted terrors Planted in childhood Slow, creeping, smothering kudzu Barely under control Steadily encroaching On our small patch of grass I should do more gardening So I can learn more about controlling weeds